


Delightful

by halespup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dancer Derek Hale, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strippers & Strip Clubs, derek is too hot for his own good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 05:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halespup/pseuds/halespup
Summary: It was supposed to be Scott’s special day,hisbachelor party, but Stiles couldn’t peel his eyes and mind away from one of the exotic dancers. He’s decidedly unsubtle. Oops.





	Delightful

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first Sterek fic I’m uploading here, and I hope you all enjoy. I wrote this at like midnight in the Eternal Sterek Discord, so I’m sorry if it’s weird or lacking. Also, I didn’t intend to go into so much detail, so the beginning is a little sparse. Regardless, have some PWP!

Stiles is fucked.

He arranged for Scott’s bachelor party to be at a strip club, and picked a co-ed strip club because some of the people invited are into dudes. He himself had plans to enjoy all the hot girls, but that plan ends up going down the toilet less than an hour into the party.

Instead, Stiles gawks over the gorgeous stripper with the rippling abs and huge package, completely ignoring everyone else. He’s dazed even after the guy’s set ends, and his friends give him endless shit until the next dancer steals their attention. Stiles is still unable to focus on the new person, thinking about miles of sweaty, tan skin, thick legs, powerful arms, and that _ass_...

Stiles doesn’t notice their host walking up until he gets a tap on the shoulder. Peter is grinning devilishly as he tells Stiles he’s been offered a free private dance from one of the employees. Stiles tries to bargain it off to Scott, citing that a) it’s Scott’s party and b) Stiles wouldn’t enjoy it that much anyway. He doesn’t explain that he wouldn’t be able to give that dancer the attention they deserved while the other one was still on his mind. Peter insists that the employee specifically requested Stiles and Stiles alone. It takes Scott demanding that Stiles go for it for him to agree, but he eventually follows Peter into the back of the building. He hears the table cheering and catcalling him until they can’t see him anymore, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that.

The room Peter leads him to is low-lit and empty save for a chair in the middle, and he walks in alone. He sits in the chair awkwardly, ready to explain to the dancer that he’s distracted tonight and he doesn’t want to waste their time. But from a door he didn’t notice before, a body walks in. Stiles can’t see more than their silhouette but he just _knows_ it’s the guy from earlier.

The man brightens the lights a bit and Stiles notices his face for the first time, sharp and stunning even as he glares grumpily at the lightswitch like it offended him for being set too dark when he walked in. He notices Stiles and gives him a small grin, and fuck if it’s not _perfect_.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m Derek. You comfortable?”

Stiles is stuck staring at him for an awkwardly long amount of time after he speaks, but he breaks his silence when Derek’s perfect smile falters. “Yes! Yes, yeah, it’s- it’s good. I’m good. Hi.” The smile comes back, and this time it’s amused. Stiles returns it, a little too proud that _he did that, he made the hot guy smile_. Hot guy who gave him his name, which Stiles hadn’t returned. Shit. “Stiles!” he blurts. Derek furrows his brow in confusion. “That’s me. My name. It’s stiles.”

Derek nods, looking pleased, and Stiles relaxes. He’s scared to fuck this up, because clearly Derek has low standards to have picked him out of all the guys in his group, but Stiles doesn’t wanna push just _how_ low those standards may go.

Music starts to flow in gradually from magic invisible speakers set up somewhere in the room, and Stiles sees that Derek is pulling a hand away from an iPod that’s hooked up to the wall. It’s some old 90’s R&B song that Stiles can only half-remember, but it’s catchy enough that his spazzy ass is having trouble sitting still. Derek smiles knowingly like he’s reading Stiles’ mind, and walks in front of him.

“Do you mind if I dance for you?” he asks, hips swaying gently, as though Stiles would ever turn down a gift from God.

“Fuck no,” Stiles answers, voice more breathy than he anticipated. “Please do.”

Derek grins with sharp teeth and a glint in his eye. “Cool.” And it totally _is_ cool, because Derek’s hips are moving in circles and he’s wearing sweatpants that are annoyingly loose but ridiculously sexy. He teases the hem of his tank top and Stiles notices how thick his fingers are. _Fuck._

The music picks up and Derek takes his shirt off, giving Stiles a perfect view of his artfully sculpted torso. Strong pecs hover above a carved six-pack that dips into a sharp v that Stiles _knows_ leads to a dick bigger than anything he’s ever seen up close.

“You can touch,” Derek says. “You’re not supposed to, but I... I want you to.”

“Oh god,” Stiles mutters, practically wounded. His hand is shaking as he reaches out to graze his fingers tentatively over the man’s hot skin. He traces his fingers from Derek’s side over the plains and valleys of his abs, then up the center of his chest. He lays his palm flat, and Derek covers it with his own. His hand is pushed down, down, _down_, until it reaches the hem of Derek’s sweats.

“Take them off of me,” Derek commands, and stiles is incapable of doing anything else. He pulls down from the sides with both hands, swift in his eagerness, and _holy shit_ Derek isn’t wearing underwear. Oh god. Oh god, oh fuck, oh jesus christ, _lord._

Derek's thick length bobs as he steps out of his sweats and kicks them away. It sticks up proudly, somehow already hard, and Stiles’ mind is stupefied at the idea that maybe Derek is even slightly as into him as he is into Derek.

“You can touch,” Derek reminds him, and Stiles whimpers. He reaches out and wraps a hand around Derek and dear god it’s _real,_ how the fuck is this happening to him? He can feel himself straining at his jeans but he ignores it, instead giving Derek a slow pull. The man rumbles a pleased sound and moves his hips forward and backwards to the rhythm of the music that Stiles forgot was playing. With Derek practically slow-boning his hand, Stiles’ other travels to his own jeans and pops the button.

He hesitates for a second, coming back to his senses, but Derek insists, “Do it. Show me.” Stiles fumbles to yank his zipper down and pull himself out. He doesn’t have it in him to feel shame; there’s nothing to feel but arousal so strong it’s practically suffocating.

He gets a little dizzy when Derek steps closer, his dick inches from Stiles’ face. “Can I... your mouth,” he breathes. Stiles leans forward in an instant, tongue out to lap up the shiny drop of precum that’s been beckoning him for the last eternity.

Derek groans and Stiles wraps his mouth around him, eyes fluttering closed. _God, yes, finally,_ he thinks, sucking gently at the head. Derek moves his hips again, fucking Dtiles’ mouth like his hand. It’s shallow, and Stiles reaches his now-free hand up to grab Derek’s hip and guide him into bigger rolls. He’s rewarded with another groan as Derek fucks into his mouth, stretching his jaw and calling his focus to suppressing his gag reflex.

Stiles barely notices how his right hand is wildly moving in his lap, jerking his cock and pulling him closer to the edge than he wants to be. He can’t make himself stop, though, too wrapped up in Derek. He can smell him, taste him, feel him, hear him, see him... All of his senses are full of _Derek_ and he’s never felt anything this good in his whole life.

“Sorry, I’m close,” Derek moans, and Stiles isn’t displeased at all. If anything, it’s a relief to know he’s not alone. He takes Derek in deeper, and the man’s hips stutter to a stop. There are tears in Stiles’ eyes when his nose finally touches the waxed-smooth skin above Derek’s cock. Thank god for huge dildos, giving him practice he never thought he’d use.

Derek cries out as Stiles pulls away, hips twitching like he can’t help it. Stiles bobs his head in a rhythm a bit quicker than the song, sucking desperately as he starts to feel himself getting too close. “Please,” Derek whimpers. “Stiles.”

Stiles squirms in his chair and whines around Derek in response, moving in deeper again and swallowing. “I- ah, Stiles. I’m gonna- _ngh-_”

Derek is near-silent when he comes, tiny choked-off sounds leaving him while his cock twitches and unloads in Stiles’ mouth. It’s hot and thick and vaguely salty, and Stiles drinks down every drop he’s given. He sucks hard, coaxing out as much as he can, desperate to take it all.

Eventually Derek shudders and pulls out of Stiles’ mouth, oversensitive. He falls to his knees, panting through his nose as he slaps Stiles’ hand away and wraps the warm, wet heat of his mouth around Stiles’ length.

Stiles comes almost immediately, crying out in shock and pleasure as Derek gives him the same treatment he was just given. The difference is that Derek is fucking _perfect,_ and Stiles’ head spins as his cock is sucked dry. His eyes roll back and he’s shaking like a goddamn vibrator but Derek takes it all in, suckling gently as Stiles begins to soften in his mouth.

They both sit there for a minute, catching their breaths and recuperating. “God,” Stiles huffs after a moment.

“Call me Derek.” The grin on his face is ridiculously sexy, enough that part of Stiles is ready to go again, even after all that.

Stiles is so, _so_ fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are much appreciated, if you desire.


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